


What it is to Wonder

by ThisPolarNoise



Category: The Fugitive (1993)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of canon character death, Post-Movie, because they deserve happiness, canon divergence - post-The Fugitive, irregular updates because it's me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPolarNoise/pseuds/ThisPolarNoise
Summary: “Last week, you would have killed me. If it wasn't for those doors, you would have shot me in the head,” Richard said. “Now you're offering me a bottle of scotch. I don't understand.”In which companionship is found in the strangest of places.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to simplecoffee for dragging me into this tiny fandom (ok that's a lie I came here totally willingly) and letting me scream at her while watching/rewatching/writing.

His cell was quiet, and he was grateful for that. For the first two days, Richard had slept every moment he could until a guard had woken him up, a sleep too deep to dream. After that it was more difficult, nightmares cutting through his prayers for peace. Now, Richard was just waiting, staring at the grey ceiling and counting down.  
Three days into his second prison stay.  
Two more nights until he was finally free.  
Sykes had turned state’s evidence as soon as they brought Charles in, confessed to everything for life in prison instead of the death sentence Richard had received. Charles still wasn't talking, and the investigation into Devlin MacGregor was just getting started, but Sykes’ testimony was enough to finally get Richard acquitted. It wasn't over; there were months of court dates ahead of him for the other cases, but soon he'd be out of jail. There was a lot to be done, but the worst of it was almost over.  
For all they all claimed to know he was innocent the whole time, Richard hadn't received a single visit, so much as a call from anybody at the hospital when he'd been in prison waiting for his trial and sat rotting in jail. He'd been like an embarrassing secret, all of them willing to whisper that they believed him around each other, but none prepared to say that to his face. That way, if they were wrong, they could still deny it. The same was happening again now, he knew, as he lay back on the thin prison mattress. His acquittal hearing would be soon, just a few days away, but for now he was still Richard Kimble, the guy who'd killed his wife and escaped from prison, not a doctor, not even a man, just a headline and a number. Maybe when the hearing was over, he'd get calls of congratulations and more 'I-knew-you-were-innocent's from those he hadn't trusted enough to go to as a fugitive, but until then he'd stay in Cook County lockup, ignored and put out of people's minds. The people who were supposed to be his friends had left him completely alone in the world until he came to them once again.  
There was only one time he'd been allowed to feel like the man he used to be since Helen had died, and that was sat in the back of the Marshals’ car, when Gerard had taken off his cuffs and handed him an ice pack, one arm almost around his shoulder. The man who would have shot him dead just days earlier, who still claimed he didn't care, even if his smile said different, was the only one who believed him enough to take a second look at the case. He only put the cuffs back on when they got to the desk at lockup, and even then his hands were gentle on Richard’s aching wrists as he murmured an apology.  
Richard shifted on the thin prison mattress, trying to get comfortable, and gasped in pain. The movement woke up every ache in his body that had gone dormant while he lay still. His body wasn't built to take the amount of abuse it had over the last few weeks. The crash, the train, the dam, falling down an elevator shaft… he was damn lucky the worst injuries he had were a couple of fractured ribs and a sprained knee. He'd been a hair away from being shot, for god sake, several times over. He could have died ten times over without ever getting justice for Helen.  
Richard tried to push that thought out of his mind and closed his eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep, but when he closed his eyes he saw Helen covered in blood and the bus crash, bullets hitting the glass less than a foot away from him and those lifelong moments in the water when he didn't know if he'd reach the surface before he choked. It was going to be a long night.

-

The metal door screeched back and slammed into place and dragged Richard awake and upright, ready to bolt from an unseen enemy.  
It took him a moment to remember where he was, not on the run but in a tiny concrete room that he almost spent the rest of his life in. He resisted the urge to fall back and close his eyes again. He was safe. It was almost over, now.  
“Kimble, you got a visitor,” the guard at the door called in.  
Richard stood up slowly and limped to the door where the guard snapped a pair of cuffs too tightly over his wrists. The guard didn't seem to care that he was innocent in everything but the paperwork, he was still shoved along the walkways towards what felt like an interrogation room and forced into a chair he would have sat in willingly. Whoever his visitor was wasn't in the room yet and despite his earlier bitterness, he almost hoped none of his colleagues would come in to see him like this, all bruised and broken and so obviously a prisoner.  
The door buzzed. Another guard walked in, held the door open, and the man who walked in definitely wasn't one of his colleagues.  
Deputy Gerard sat down in the chair opposite him and offered him a tired smile. It struck Richard that Gerard had probably had even less sleep than he had over the last few weeks, and it showed in a way he hadn’t noticed the last time he’d seen him. His movements weren’t quite as stiff as Richard’s, but he was slower than he had been, and there were deep bags under his eyes.  
“Good morning, Doctor Kimble.”  
“Why the sudden formality, Gerard? Before, you just called me Richard.”  
“Before, you were a fugitive I was tasked with tracking down, now you're an innocent man. And before you ask… I still don't care,” he said, one corner of his lip twitching up for a second.  
Richard hadn’t slept enough and he still hadn't recovered from his weeks on the run. He was in no mood for… whatever this was. “Why are you here, Gerard?”  
“Came to talk about your hearing tomorrow. My team and I are gonna be the ones accompanying you down to the courthouse.”  
Richard finally managed a bitter smile. “What, they think I'm going to run again?”  
“Until the judge hears your case, you're still a criminal, Richard.”  
“It's almost over. I want this to be done, not to drag it out any longer.”  
“So does everybody else. These things usually take months but, well, Cook County PD is embarrassed you solved a case their detectives messed up,” he paused. “They’re also goddamn terrified of a lawsuit that can only get worse for them if they keep you locked up any longer.”  
“They should be.”  
Richard had to find a new lawyer first, there was no way in hell he was gonna stay with the guy who hadn’t even managed to get his sentence down from the death penalty, but after that, they'd be right to be scared. He was going to rain hell on them. Richard had never had any reason in the past to doubt the police, but since he'd been locked up, he'd spent a long time wondering how many people there were in the same boat as he had been. If there was anybody else, he wanted to help them too.  
Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Those detectives would have let the real killers get off scot-free just for an easy suspect. Trust me, we had words.”  
If that surprised Richard, he didn't let it show. He guessed it shouldn’t have; Gerard and his team were the only other people to look into the case, and it wasn't even their job.  
“Before I forget, when you get out of here, there's a bottle of twelve year old scotch with your name on it,” Gerard said, and Richard narrowed his eyes.  
“What?”  
“The chief of the CCPD promised it to whoever caught you, so I picked it up, but seeing as you handed yourself in, I figure it belongs to you,” Gerard’s smile was warm, genuine. “That is, if my kids haven’t stolen it yet.”  
“Last week, you would have killed me. If it wasn't for those doors, you would have shot me in the head,” Richard said. “Now you're offering me a bottle of scotch. I don't understand.”  
“Good.”  
“What?”  
“I said ‘good’,” Gerard shrugged. “Gotta keep a little mystery going, Doc.” He stood up. “Court starts at ten. My team will be here at eight thirty. Wear something pretty.”


	2. Chapter 2

The morning came and Richard dressed in the same suit he was sentenced in for his trial, the only clothes that were available to him, no matter how much he wished he could wear literally anything else.

He was escorted from processing to a prisoner transport van by Poole and a man with a moustache he recognised as a member of Gerard’s team but didn't know the name of. There was no sign of Gerard himself, but Poole took off his cuffs when they reached the van, presumably on Gerard’s instruction.

“Where is he, anyway?”

The two marshals shared a look before the man spoke.

“Deputy Gerard went to an inter-agency briefing this morning and got into an argument with a couple of members of the CCPD. Think you know them; Detectives Kelly and Rosetti.”

Richard tilted his head, trying not to seem too worried. Gerard could clearly look after himself, but those detectives were… difficult, to say the least. “Is he okay?”

Poole snorts. “Sam’s fine but he was still getting chewed out by the judge when we left. Kelly and Rosetti maybe won't be so quick to judge in future.”

Richard smiled in spite of himself; he only wished he could have been there. The rest of the journey passed in silence.

The courthouse was already crowded with reporters at the front. Richard hadn’t anticipated that; he hoped people would have forgotten about him by now but with everything that had happened recently he couldn't force himself to be surprised either. They might have been able to see the reporters out of the front window, but none of them could see him, at least.

Poole turned in her seat. “Henry, take us to the side entrance.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement and drove past the steps up to the main entrance around the side, pulling up as close to the door as possible. Richard shot Poole a look he hoped contained at least half the gratitude he felt as she snapped the cuffs back around his wrists. Just until he got into the courtroom, he tried to remind himself, after that he'd never have to wear these things again. God, he wished he had an easier time believing that.

Poole opened the door and offered him a hand down. There were no reporters on this side of the building, just a few by the gates, and it didn’t look like they’d seen him yet. He couldn't help but watch them as he limped the few steps until he was inside the building. They take back staircases and corridors he doesn't recognise, but overall make it to the courtroom (the one he'd also been sentenced in, he noted numbly) faster than if they'd gone the direct way, just my avoiding the reporters.

He didn't dare look around the courtroom this time to see who was watching, just stared ahead, straight forwards, until the Deputy announced the judge's arrival.

All he could do now was wait again. 

* * *

Richard flinched as the judge’s gavel dropped, he couldn't help himself. The last time he’d heard that sound it was sentencing him to death. It didn’t matter that this time it was setting him free. He already knew that shot would be in tonight’s news. He thanked his lawyer and let their team go on ahead, let them be the centre of attention, the heroes of the day. Richard was sick of being stared at, tired of questions.

He stepped out into the corridor, still alone, as yet unnoticed by the reporters and spectators. When he’d first been convicted, he’d liked to imagine emerging from the courtroom triumphantly, not skulking to the exit, trying his best not to be noticed, as they interviewed his lawyer. Really, it hadn’t fixed anything, just this. Helen was still dead. The men responsible for her death had very good lawyers working around the clock on their cases; he doubted they’d get as harsh as sentence as he had, even if their motives had been that much worse. Bridges had been burned that he’d never truly be able to rebuild without wondering if they’d fall again at the first sign of trouble. He finally reached the door, and a security guard let him out without a comment.

Richard stared up at the clouded sky and blinked. It was his first time seeing it as a truly free man in over a year. He didn't know what to do with that.

Before all this, he’d had a life. Then he had a purpose. Now…

The crowd of reporters reached him before he even realised they were there, too lost in his own thoughts to notice their questions until they were right behind him.

Their voices were like a flood around him, all talking over each other:

“What are you going to do now?”

“Will things ever go back to normal without your wife?”

“Did you ever think you'd be free again?”

“ _Hey Doc!_ ” a voice called out¡, cutting through the journalists and their question. “ _You need a ride?”_

He turned to where the voice was coming from and ducked between a couple of the journalists. Gerard’s car was there and he was leaning out of the window, alone this time, no sign of the other marshals. He looked around at the journalists again, cameras flashing, shouting intrusive questions in his ear, and made a decision. Richard ducked into the passenger seat quickly, fastening his seatbelt as Gerard drove away from the curb. Anything was better than more of that.

Gerard was silent for a couple of blocks, just driving straight on. When he spoke there was no small talk, no questions as to how it had gone. The case had to have gone well for him to even be here. “So Doc, where are we headed?”

Richard hesitated. “Good question.”

“Where are you staying tonight?”

Richard braced his elbow against the door and rested his head in his hand, watching the road. He hadn’t been back to his apartment since Helen had died, and all of his things were in storage anyway. He didn’t have any family of his own, and his relationship with Helen’s was…  _ strained _ , to say the least. Maybe Kathy or somebody from the hospital would have let him stay for a few nights while he worked it out, but he wasn't quite ready to call them just yet, not now it wasn't a life or death situation.

“Figured I could get a hotel room somewhere.”

“Your finances already been unlocked?”

He hesitated and Gerard frowned.

“Let me take you to dinner first. My treat. Least I can do to make up for trying to shoot you.”


End file.
